


Wild, Though I Seem Tame

by shiniestqueen (sparrowinsky)



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/F, Menelaus is a dick, Sacrifice, Trojan War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 18:26:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5015383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrowinsky/pseuds/shiniestqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Men choose war; priests choose sacrifice. </p><p>Iphigenia makes her own choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wild, Though I Seem Tame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [veilchenjaeger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/veilchenjaeger/gifts).



_“Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,_

_But as for me, hélas, I may no more._

_The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,_

_I am of them that farthest cometh behind._

_Yet may I by no means my wearied mind_

_Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore_

_Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,_

_Sithens in a net I seek to hold the wind._

_Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,_

_As well as I may spend his time in vain._

_And graven with diamonds in letters plain_

_There is written, her fair neck round about:_

_Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,_

_And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.”_

-Sir Thomas Wyatt

 

In a thousand years they will say she went unknowing, as though a sheep to the slaughter; but no, no, no. She goes to the altar heavy with the knowledge of her fate.

Not at first, of course. At first there is measured delight. Marriage, and a good match at that, a fine and worthy cause to travel all the way to Aulis. If only it were true, and not the lies of two cowards she is _ashamed_ to call her father, her uncle. Men who haven’t even the honor to reveal their own falsehood, leaving her standing foolishly before her supposed intended in the market-place.

Her mother rages, and Iphigenia wishes she could weep. The tears sting the back of her eyes, but no more, even when Clytemnestra pulls her along to confront her father. Agamemnon turns his face away from her, ashamed, and nor will he meet his wife’s eyes; but Menelaus stands firm and unrepentant.

Iphigenia must die, for the sake of war and men’s vows.

So be it. If she is to die, she makes her own choice of it; makes them wait, and wait, until the month turns and the sixth day comes hence, thirteen days in all. She dresses in fine clothes, all shades of saffron and gold that make her skin glow, her eyes dance, her hair shine. She wears a wreath of cypress. She kisses her mother goodbye, and her baby brother, still so small. It stings, that she’ll never know the look of him as a man. She’d been so delighted when he was born, to finally have a brother.

The morning is cool and pleasant, and the procession to Artemis’s temple quiet and restrained. Iphigenia refuses any help, and steps up to the altar alone. If her limbs tremble as she sinks to her knees on the cold stone, if her heart races, her breath comes quick in her breast, well; who would not shake, a little, when going to their death?

And then the priest raises her knife, and a strange thing happens. Time slows, slows, stops; the world is cast in a strange golden light, and a woman stands before her, brows furrowed.

“This,” says the goddess Artemis, “is _not at all_ what I meant.”

The silence grows thick between them, Iphigenia staring up- for Artemis stands tall- and Artemis gazing back with a most peculiar expression. The goddess is strange to Iphigenia’s eyes, not the boyish youth of paintings but a dark-eyed woman with round hips and strong limbs.

“...my lady,” Iphigenia finally manages, “you asked for my sacrifice.”

"Yes, yes," the goddess responds, “sacrifice, recompense; they shot my deer, you know. And then boasted of their prowess. As if they couldn’t tell my own hinds from the common creatures of the forest, when they shine like gold and come to any open hand. Do you know why that is, little mortal?”

Were she not already kneeling, Iphigenia might prostrate herself at the rich note of anger in Artemis’ voice, a resonant tone that seemed to sit heavy in the air around them. But the goddess seems to wait for an answer, so: “No, my lady.”

“It’s because _they’re_ my deer, and none but a fool would think of killing one! Get up, you look silly on the floor. ”

Iphigenia scrambles to her feet. “Why are you here?” She asks, before she thinks better of it. Heat stings her cheeks; boldness she’s never lacked, but to speak so carelessly to a _god_?

“Because this is stupid,” the goddess replies, no hint of censure in her tone. “Wasteful. I don’t like waste. I don’t like these temples they build, either, all stone and reeking of city. Much prefer the trees. Do you creatures think of nothing else but blood, when a sacrifice is due?"

Iphigenia blinks, rocking back on her feet. The gods are unfathomable, she’s been told, and now more than ever she believes it. Artemis is not in the least what she has been taught to think.

"Men always think of blood," she finally says. “Blood is cause and coin to them.”

“And not to you? You’ve come to the knife so willingly.” Artemis leans close, a wry smile on her lips, and taps her on the temple.

Iphigenia shivers, and tries not to lean into the warmth the goddess radiates. “No. What’s the use of blood but pain, and more pain, and war and death and loss? And it goes on and on, binding oaths and sacrifice, but never the fighting men, no. Too valuable, they, needed for this war, the next. It’s always the daughters, treated no better than goats when a blood sacrifice is called for, and not a one thinks to ask what we might want.”

“And what do you want?”

“I don’t _know_!” Her fear is forgotten. It’s frustration that makes her hands shake now, as she rakes them through her hair, disturbing the carefully arranged curls. “How am I to know? When have I been asked? I want to do a hundred things, a thousand, and taste the world, and yet all I have ever been offered is marriage. At least this,” she sweeps a hand wildly at the silent tableau in the temple, “I got to _choose_.”

“What an interesting creature you are,” Artemis says, her voice thick with laughter. “Let’s have a deal, little human. Come to me in Tauris, and I will make you a companion of mine.”

Iphigenia’s heart leaps in her chest, a strange joy suffusing her. “...I am not to be a sacrifice?” She stills, as Artemis leans close again, lips curving in a smile full of promise.

“Oh, you are. As I said, what use is waste? You’ve better coin to pay with than blood. Tauris, little one. Within the year.” Artemis presses a kiss to her brow, her cheeks, and then, softly, to her lips; the scent of honey and wild things grows thick and heady in the air, and she cannot stop her eyes from fluttering closed, her lips from smiling, her heart from pounding.

“I-” but the goddess is gone. Iphigenia blinks, and time begins again its stately pace; and she is a hind, and everyone is shouting. She scrambles on unfamiliar legs, hooves sliding against the smooth stone, her soul screaming _run_. So she does, as the priest fumbles with his knife, as her uncle draws his sword: she leaps, graceful for a brief moment, and lands sprawling beyond the crowd. Up she scrambles, up, before they can turn, and flees down the temple steps and through the streets, dodging startled people as her legs grow sure beneath her, running until the forest comes into sight in her strange new eyes.

Tauris is far, and Iphigenia does not entirely know the way; but for the first time in her life, hope sings in her very bones.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I headcanon that on the way to Tauris, Iphigenia is the deer that jumps between the Aloadae.
> 
> Thank you so much for the prompt! Artemis has never been a focus for me before, and I learned a lot of fascinating stuff researching for this. I hope you enjoy it!


End file.
